


Trial and Error

by Helicon



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Body Horror, Egg Laying, Humor, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Moon Fuckery, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, Laurence gets fucked up, M/M, Oviposition, Sickfic, filling in the nameless scholar void
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 09:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helicon/pseuds/Helicon
Summary: The nameless Moon Presence, beckoned by Laurence and his associates, beckons a little something of her own right back at them.





	Trial and Error

As far as either Laurence or Gehrman were aware, the ritual had failed, but they were one step closer to contacting the Great One. The Hamlet and Kos’ child had been a complete disaster; the infant was dead and its cord consumed, quite literally devoured by a rogue scholar, the two were left with a city rapidly falling apart and the scourge settling in nicely amongst the rubble. Maria’s death hadn't been more than a month prior -- investigated and declared a suicide, though the blood coagulating in her throat and on her lap with no trace of a companion left no other option, Gehrman was still reeling from the implication, from his fault in the massacre that brought her to the Church, from the photograph stolen off the mantle that had been found at the very scene. Bafflingly, he'd refused to take it back.

Ending the Hunt once and for all was a necessary action, and a good enough distraction. Besides, Laurence couldn't have thought of anyone better to join him and the scholars at his assistance.

When they both sat before the fireplace in the Workshop one night, deciding where to go from there and what about their approach to the Great One needed fixing, Laurence swooned and might have fallen face-first into the gate had Gehrman not caught him first. “Laurence!” he said, still holding him. “Laurence, have you been sleeping? At all? You haven't been yourself since the ritual.”

“It's stress, nothing more.” Laurence brushed himself off as he extricated himself from a concerned Gehrman’s arms and stood, uneasily. “My time is only growing shorter and we haven't much left to waste like this.”

Shaking his head, standing, Gehrman took Laurence’s hands in his and pleaded with him: “Don’t talk like that. We’re so close, we’ll find a way to fix this. Fix everything.”

“High optimism for a man who was one well-timed interruption away from leaving me less than a week ago.”

“One of us has to have it. Are you sure you'll be alright? It _is_ getting late…”

By this point Laurence was bent with his hands braced on his knees, his breath coming in short puffs. “I think I'll stay here tonight,” he said between gasps.

That night he took the side of the bed closest to the open window, physically avoiding Gehrman even in his sleep. His tossing and turning woke them both up, his pillow-muffled cries had Gehrman insisting on fetching a doctor but Laurence would have none of it. His skin was sickly pale, shining with cold sweat in the moonlight, and not much better by lamp. He clutched at his stomach at random, grunting or hissing in pain and biting back sobs.

“I can't feel anything wrong.” Utterly puzzled, Gehrman pressed his fingers into Laurence’s flesh again. There was nothing abnormal -- nothing he didn't feel when he did the same to himself, and he was fine. “You're a little warm, but there's nothing… firm, like you said.”

“You don't feel anything new?”

“Nothing that I haven't got. Should I?”

Laurence winced and slapped Gehrman’s hands off of him. “It's like my guts have torn themselves apart,” he whispered. “And reformed, but reformed _wrong_ …”

“Well, far be it from me to make a diagnosis, but… you should really see a doctor. And look into thespianism if we work the Hunt out and you get ousted as vicar. You're worse than I am. And aren't _you_ a doctor, anyway?”

“I'm serious, Gehrman!”

“And I'm taking you seriously. Seriously -- get help if you can't help yourself.”

Suddenly, Gehrman was yanked by his shirt collar much closer to Laurence on the mattress. “It was the ritual,” Laurence hissed. “It had to be. The timing--”

“--means nothing--”

“--has to mean something!” Laurence propped himself up on his elbows and looked down at himself, worrying his bottom lip. “Something backfired, but what…” One hand resting gingerly on his belly, Laurence wrongfully thought he could take a moment to rest. He lurched forward and the whole top half of his body left the bed. _“There!”_ he yelped, forcing Gehrman’s trembling hand beneath his. “There, do you feel it now?”

“What in the--” Gehrman pulled his hand away and met Laurence’s frightened eyes. “That's not… that's not right. That's not normal.”

“I'm telling you! Whatever we did wrong, it… _oh…”_

“That’s it.” Laurence went limp, allowing Gehrman to pick him up, one arm below his knees and the other supporting his back. “I'm taking you back to the cathedral and we’re figuring this out there.”

“I can't have them see me like this,” he argued, weak.

“They don't have to. Just tell them to leave you be, and I'll be with you through it.”

They stood out in the early dawn, and it did not escape Gehrman how Laurence craned his neck toward the setting moon instead of against his shoulder. How he'd take him all the way out into the city like this…

“Laurence, you'll have to walk. I can't carry you much further.”

From the Workshop to Yharnam and Cathedral Ward, it took them over an hour. The spasms and fits Laurence was having had stopped, or at least slowed down enough for him to make it through the grandly decorated halls, but Gehrman had to haul him into his chambers at the end. It was hell on his back and mind, dawn was turning to day and he had already deflected question upon question upon interrogation regarding the Vicar breathing shallowly in his arms. “It's none of your business,” he responded curtly at first. Then as the Church’s Hunters and clergy alike began to flock around him in concern for their leader, Gehrman’s patience wore thin and he would have snapped on the lot of them had Laurence not started to protest their presence and the imposing figure of the Captain entered to see what the commotion was.

“Ludwig, control your people!” Gehrman shouted over the small crowd. Laurence mumbled his displeasure and screwed shut his eyes as Ludwig parted the murmuring crowd like the sea with his presence. “Hush, love, we’ve got this under control… Ludwig.”

“Gehrman, what is this? What's happened?” The Captain of the Church Hunters stared in shock and quiet reverence at the vicar curled like a dead spider in his old mentor’s arms. He called for the crowd to disperse, waving his hand high so that those who could not hear would see.

“I'm not sure where to start. Can you take him for now?”

“Of course.” Laurence was transferred from Hunter to Hunter like a thin sheet of glass.

A brief spark of jealousy flared in a darker corner of Gehrman’s heart, and he tried not to look for too long as they brought Laurence into his room. “Laurence, can you speak?” When Laurence would not, and tried to burrow into his bed, he turned back to Ludwig. “We tried to contact the Great One again.”

Ludwig’s face seemed to just drop. “And we haven't had enough of the Great Ones just yet?”

“It's… complicated. I know I have. Laurence is turning already, he knows, I can smell it on him and I bet you can, too; we’re going to contain this disaster until he can put an end to the scourge.” Gehrman paused. “Our last attempt failed and he's been like this since.”

Silent, Ludwig glanced towards Laurence, who was righting himself once again. “Is that the worst of it?”

“That we failed?”

“That he's in so much distress!”

“He’s, ah… something we did backfired, and that's quite the story actually…”

“Just tell me, Gehrman, it can't be that difficult.”

“Oh, it is.”

Laurence was panting now on all fours, sweat dripping off his body, robes and every bit of clothing down to his shorts shed. “Stop the chit-chat and help me, damn it!” His voice rose as he desperately wiped moisture off his face.

“ _Now_ you can talk! Ludwig, ice and privacy if you'd please.”

“You need to tell me what the hell is going on here,” warned Ludwig as he left, sparing a worried look before closing the door behind himself.

Gehrman waited until he couldn't hear Ludwig’s hurried footsteps and knelt down beside Laurence. “What the hell is going on here?” he asked in a hushed tone.

“There’s something--moving,” he hiccuped.

“Excuse me?”

“It's subtle, just barely a twitch but I can still feel it…”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“Whatever happened--and I think I know what happened, Gehrman, something’s alive--”

Gehrman pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. “No. _No_ , Laurence. You’re not about to tell me you… you’ve…” The words caught on his tongue and refused to be spit out. “Oh, this _would_ happen… you fraternize with gods and you get… _fraternized_ , with…”

“I wonder, why doesn't it show?”

“Great, _you_ can wonder that while I wonder how I'm going to tell _Ludwig_ I'm not making him its _godfather_ \--hello, Ludwig, that was awful quick of you!”

“Whose godfather?” Ludwig placed a cloth-wrapped ice block about the size of his giant fist on the bedside table where Laurence snatched it up and held it tight to his chest in an attempt to cool himself down.

“Would you like to tell him?”

“Me? Oh, no--” Laurence was cut off by another grunt. “I'm a little focused elsewhere right now.”

“Laurence, you'll turn my hair white… Just a moment, Ludwig, I need to sit down for this.” Gehrman held Laurence’s free hand in his, since he'd collapsed onto his side. “My _dear_ Laurence here botched his ritual and the moon’s put him in a very… delicate condition.”

“He’s…? ... _oh_. Don't cringe like that, Gehrman, if you’re right--and it does look like you're right, as bizarre as that sounds--we need to deal with this!”

“What, you think I don't know? I just found out that was a possibility right before you walked in!”

“Let’s stop talking like I'm not here, shall we?”

“You're awfully calm about this all of a sudden.”

“On the inside, for the past month, I’ve been emotionally ablaze. This isn't helping but I am doing what I can!” All of a sudden Laurence’s back arched, bending him upon himself, and his hand tightened impossibly around Gehrman’s wrist. He cried out, holding tight to the ice pack like a lifeline. “If anyone--I _alone_ have the right to be afraid!”

“I still stand by my statement. We _must_ do something; is it going to come out at all?”

“I imagine so… where, I'd rather not think about, but it has to come out eventually.”

“It isn't ready yet.”

“Are you--are you absolutely sure, Laurence? Because you look like you're ready.” Gehrman stroked his arm gently. How much longer would this take?

“I'm sure. I just… need some time alone, right now.”

“That isn't going to happen.”

“Then Ludwig, please…”

“Stay?”

“Go. And not a word of this to anybody.”

Ludwig and Gehrman shared a look between each other, and then Laurence was alone with his Hunter once more. He let out a breath like he'd been holding it forever and flopped like a fish out of water onto his back.

“We’ll use it to contact the Great One,” he said after a long silence. “This could be our last chance…”

“We have to, don't we?” Gehrman added. “Otherwise you going through this would have been for nothing. You'll tell me when it's time, right?”

Laurence nodded and winced. “Give it another day or two. If it's moving about already…”

“I’d rather not think about it.”

“You heard what Ludwig said. We can't avoid it.”

“You know, I miss when you were having a rational reaction to the moon putting out into you.”

“I suspect I'll be doing more of it in the near future. Could you open the window? I would like to be outside.”

“I was about to until you worded it like that! Can't you just be normal and say you want fresh air..."

“Do it anyways, and don't let me get up,” Laurence said with a tired grin.

Gehrman returned it, though only halfway, and walked across the bedroom to throw the blinds open. Sunlight flooded in and illuminated what wasn't already lamplit, including Laurence’s half-bare and exhausted body and the deep mauve sheets around him. “If you were feeling better,” he chuckled, making his limping stride back into Laurence’s bed and holding him tight to his own body. “I’d show this Great One just whose you _are_.”

“Save it, we’ll have time later.”

“Can I help it if I'm jealous?”

“Clearly not, I saw how you looked at Ludwig.” He laughed quietly, staring blank-eyes at the ceiling. “I'm no better, though.”

“I know you're not. You lose your mind every time I dream of the wrong person. Are you feeling any better?”

“Less like I'm on fire.”

“I guess that's better. Hot flashes, we’ll keep an eye out for those… I still think you should send for another doctor. You have those here, Laurence, they are literally--”

Laurence shook his head feverishly. “I don't need any more people involved than there are already.”

“Then swallow your pride _for once_ and ask Willem--”

“No!”

“--or tell Zima, or Pajari, or Pokorny or--”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“Ester and Martin?”

Gehrman threw his hands up in the air. “My point exactly! You have people you can tell--I never even caught on that Ester and Martin were related. Are they or is it just--never mind! You have people with much better understanding of… of this! You could die, you could…” he trailed off, looking down. “I don’t even want to think about that. What will you tell them when we try this again with a--I hate to call it a baby, but a baby that came out of nowhere?”

“I'll tell them the truth and trust they will forgive me for keeping it from them.” Laurence stood and dried himself of the melted remains of the ice.

Throughout the rest of the day Laurence seemed fine. He re-dressed and assured his people that he was alright, though Ludwig was nowhere to be seen. It was business as usual, with the exception of Gehrman remaining, for the most part, at Laurence’s side -- or close enough.

It was when the sun set again that Laurence relapsed. To get him out of the public eye quickly and discreetly, Gehrman’s first impulse that he followed was to drag him into a broom closet. In the cramped space Gehrman flipped over a bucket, sat Laurence down on it -- had to make him sit, he insisted on standing but his knees started to knock together -- and knelt in front of him, face to face and then to shoulder.

“Laurence, talk to me.”

“Pressure,” he croaked, like it hurt him to speak. His eyes widened; he stared right past Gehrman and into, no, through the door. Pupils split like oil in water took up all but the smallest speck of iris. A small stream of blood trickled from his nose and ears and he gasped when Gehrman drew in just a fraction closer, nostrils flared and upper lip curled like a dog.

Even after so long without the Old Blood… once a Hunter, always.

With the little bit of strength he had left, Laurence threw his body upon Gehrman and tackled them both into the door, fumbling with the knob enough to open it. Gasping, hand pressed to his stomach to soothe the steadily growing ache, he panted, “I need--to be--outside! Pull yourself together, Gehrman, something’s…”

Though it was cold out, Laurence and Gehrman huddled under coats and blankets in the garden outside the Workshop. The moon sat high overhead as Laurence’s cries grew louder and his legs spread wide, writhing in Gehrman’s lap and arms with his voice quiet in his ear.

“We’ll get through this, we’ll get through this… you're going to be okay.” Empty words, but one could hope.

“ _Do something!_ ” Laurence sobbed, clinging tight to Gehrman’s cape.

“Like what?!”

“Just, get it out, I can't feel it moving anymore--”

Gehrman felt at Laurence’s stomach to see for himself, and found that his hand made contact a little before he’d expected it to. “Laurence…” he warned.

“I know, I know! I thought it was on its way out but I was wrong…”

The first rule of being Laurence was to never explicitly admit when he was wrong, and Laurence had just broken that rule in a flurry of hiccups and tears. Gehrman clutched him tight to his chest and bowed his head into the crook of his neck from behind. “You'll be okay,” he repeated. “This isn't going to take you.”

“I won't let it.”

“You _can’t_ let it.”

Laurence grit his teeth and bore down experimentally on the solid weight inside him. His heart pounded furiously against his ribs, the outward pressure increased and each time it did Gehrman shook his head in somewhat-concealed despair a little bit more; Laurence had forgotten of his hands upon him.

It shifted.

“Did… you feel that…?”

“I think we’re onto something.”

“Help me up, I have an idea…” Even with help Laurence struggled to stay upright, so he settled for his knees, one hand bracing himself on the ground and the other holding his belly.

Gehrman threaded his fingers through Laurence’s shaggy hair and then buried his face in it. His hands moved to Laurence’s sides, rubbing deep circles into firm skin to try and soothe him through the ordeal.

He’d done something wrong.

Or right.

A muffled noise made the two of them jump, but moreso Laurence, who shouted and breathlessly felt below himself where he could not see. A thick, mucousy fluid came off on his fingers. He stared at it for a second before another tremor wracked his body, forcing him onto all fours with the top of his head resting on Gehrman’s collarbone.

“It's time,” he whispered.

“Well have some dignity, don't… don’t birth it like _that…”_

“What dignity do I have left?” Laurence paused to take a moment for breath. “My legs won't hold me on their own right now.”

“Then let me.” Gehrman helped Laurence up to a squat, arms wrapped around his chest and stroking the back of his neck. Even through his clothing, he felt Laurence's fingernails dig into his hips, but he didn't flinch or comment.

Cries turned to huffs, to moans, and then to screams as it dropped, agonizingly slow.

“It's not--I can't pass it, it's too big--”

A quick reach down told Gehrman the exact opposite. “Trust me, you’re fine,” he mused, but still gave Laurence the confidence that came from playing a little too easily with his ass. “Just keep going.”

“That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt!”

“Just a little more…” He wiped his hand off on the grass. “You’re doing alright, we haven't had an emergency yet.”

Laurence scrabbled at Gehrman’s coat like a frightened cat, panting and gasping and wheezing. His thighs spread further, accommodating for the emerging--

“Egg?! What?!?”

“Are you sure?”

“It feels the same throughout! Either it's that or it’s in its caul, and how that would work is completely beyond--” Once more Laurence was cut off by a loud groan, breathing raggedly until he finally slumped forward into Gehrman’s chest.

"I thought they were live births. Kos's was..."

"And so were the--" Laurence huffed, clenched his jaw, and pushed down harder. "--was the-- the Choir's work--" Between heaves, he continued. "I suppose it's different when they use a male..."

"We should be grateful it chose you. I wouldn't've handled this so gracefully." A stray bit of saliva was wiped from the corner of Laurence's mouth before it reached his chin.

His strangled response as the egg reached its widest point: "I don't need your sarcasm--!" 

The soft thump of its landing in the grass did nothing to prevent the two from falling backward onto the ground in each other’s arms, forgetting entirely about it for as long as they were both conscious.


End file.
